The sharp squeak of sneakers echoed through Teiko’s massive gym. The Generation of Miracles were running drills, each movement crisp and precise under the watchful eye of their coach. Sweat poured, but the intensity never faltered.

Kise Ryouta darted across the court, pulling up for a jumper. The ball arced perfectly—swish. Another clean shot.

“Che,” Aomine Daiki muttered, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “You’re just copying me again, Kise.”

Kise flashed his usual bright grin. “Copying? Please. I just learn fast. Can’t help it if my form looks just as good as yours.”

Aomine narrowed his eyes, his pride flaring. “Tch, don’t get cocky. You’ll never be as good as me.”

“Eh? But I already scored more than you in the last scrimmage.” Kise teased, finger tapping his chin like it was just a random thought.

That did it. Aomine stomped forward, pointing a finger at him. “You wanna fight right here, blondie?”

The tension spiked—until Midorima adjusted his glasses with a sigh. “Both of you, stop wasting energy. Arguing like children doesn’t improve your stats.”

“Shut up, megane,” Aomine snapped.

“…” Kuroko stood quietly at the edge, watching the exchange with his usual blankness.

Akashi clapped his hands once, his calm voice slicing through the noise. “That’s enough. Save it for the game. We don’t waste time here.” His eyes sharpened. “Understood?”

Both Kise and Aomine fell silent, though Kise still stuck his tongue out when Akashi turned his back.

Practice wound down, and the team eventually split up, each heading their own way. The gym emptied, the heavy doors creaking shut.

Kise stretched his arms, exhaling. “Man… I love basketball, but dealing with those guys all day drains me.” He shook his head, smiling wryly. “Especially Aominecchi. He’s like a storm cloud that never clears up.”

He slipped out of the gym before anyone could stop him, hands tucked in his pockets. The evening was calm, the air cool against his skin. Usually, this was the time fangirls tried to catch him after practice—but today he took a detour, weaving through side streets until he reached the park.

The place was quiet. Almost.

A beat pulsed through the air—music, sharp and commanding. Kise’s brow furrowed as he followed the sound, curiosity tugging at him.

And then—he saw her.

A girl in the same Teiko uniform stood in the park’s open space, earphones in, phone speaker blaring fiery Latin beats. She moved with effortless precision, her body flowing like water but striking with sharp edges. Each step, each spin, was flawless—like she wasn’t even trying.

Kise’s mouth fell open. “…Whoa…”

She came to a stop, finally noticing him. Her expression didn’t change—not even a flicker of surprise. Just a calm, blank stare.

Kise blinked, scratching the back of his head. “Uh—sorry. Didn’t mean to stare. You’re… from Teiko too, right?”

She nodded once, wordless.

“…That was amazing,” he said honestly. “Seriously. Latin dance, right? I didn’t know we had someone like you at school.”

Her gaze flicked over him, sharp but unreadable. “You’re loud.”

Kise nearly tripped. “L-Loud?! I was complimenting you!”

She tilted her head slightly, expression still flat. “Basketball boy, right? Generation of Miracles.”

Kise chuckled awkwardly. “Heh… yeah, guilty. Ryouta Kise.” He gave a small bow. “But I’ve gotta say… that looked like genius-level talent. Do you always practice out here?”

She slipped one earbud back in, already looking away. “I just dance. That’s all.”

With that, the music picked back up, and she fell into rhythm again, shutting him out completely.

Kise stood there, stunned, watching her move as if the entire world had disappeared around her.

“…Man. Cold as ice. But…” His grin crept back. “…she’s seriously something else.”